


Don't Run Away Now

by BlankLiterature



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Family, Family Feels, First Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2829953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlankLiterature/pseuds/BlankLiterature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first Christmas in Storybrooke after the curse has been broken, and Emma is not usually too fond of the holidays. Swan Queen/Swan-Mills Family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! How have you been doing? I hope everyone is well and enjoying the holidays.  
> It's been a while since I last wrote anything, but this popped into my mind and I wanted to get it written down on time. I hope you have enjoyed reading it! Let me know what you think. :)  
> Merry Christmas! I wish you all a wonderful holiday season.

You wake up slowly, stirring for a few minutes and regaining full consciousness little by little, in a constant progression. That's how you know you woke up on your own, naturally, without an alarm clock that makes you jolt from your bed at once, heart beating fast until you look around and remember that there aren't really horns being played next to you summoning you to battle, and the noise is actually coming from your phone. That is how most days are for you; the times when you get to sleep for as long as your body demands are rare... so you make sure to enjoy them.

That is why it takes you a while to realize you are actually _not_ in your bed: you only open your eyes several minutes after you wake up, after stretching in every way you could possibly come up with, even the ones that would look just plain uncomfortable for anyone watching. Then you rub one eye, then the other, blink a few times slowly, trying to get used to the sunlight that hurts your pupils... and then, finally, you look around.

Your brain is not exactly functioning yet, so for a moment you just furrow your brow and try to take in your surroundings. Because, while you are certain that that is not your room in the apartment you share with your friend (roommate.. mother... whatever, you are definitely not awake enough to go there), you cannot place exactly _where_ the room around you is at first. But then it hits you. The thought, the answer comes to you in only one word, that you can't help but whisper.

" _Regina..."_

And, for some reason, that word alone makes perfect sense: suddenly, all your confusion is gone. That name on itself makes it all fall back into place. It makes _you_ fall back into place. You allow yourself to relax muscles you didn't even know you had been tensing – your forehead, to start with -, knowing that you are exactly where you're supposed to be.

You let that thought sink in for a moment, reveling in the flood of warm feelings it brings you. But after a couple of minutes, there's a nagging sensation in the back of your mind, telling you that something is wrong... something is missing. Funny enough, the answer to that is the very same as before.

" _Regina!"_

You look to your right and realize that, sure enough, the person that goes by that name is not where _she_ was supposed to be; and that, of course, is by your side.

You stretch your neck to try to take a peek into the bathroom, but the fact that the lights are off and there is absolutely no movement around you let you know that she is not there either. Your brow is furrowed again, and you decide to finally get up and find out where the other woman is. You get dressed and, before going downstairs, grab your phone... and that's when you see the time and date. It's 1pm on December 24th. _That_ is why you are not working and could sleep late... and damn if that isn't late indeed.

Being the naturally early riser that she is, Regina has probably already been up for hours, you muse. You only hope she will not be _too_ angry at you for sleeping so much... and consequently leaving her to take care of the last-minute errands for the next day on her own.

Thinking about it, though, you figure she might actually be glad about that. Your cooking skills are possibly the worst ever, and every time you go into the kitchen with her, there are only two possible outcomes: you making a huge mess and ruining whatever it is you are trying to make; or you simply not working at all (to avoid accidents) and instead just staying there for company... and by "company", you mean "food", since you always find a way to grab some of whatever Regina is cooking before it actually makes it to the table.

You have become a professional at resisting the glares and daggers she shoots at you every time you do that. Being the first one to taste the unbelievably delicious products of her culinary abilities is certainly worth it. If it depended on you... there would be no necessity to take things to the table, after all. Actually, if it depended solely on you, there wouldn't _be_ enough food to take to the table, because it would all be over as soon as it was ready.

You wrinkle your nose at the realization that perhaps it's a good thing that it does _not_ depend only on you; otherwise there would never be enough food left for Regina herself, or for Henry. So, on further thought, you reckon the brunette might actually be relieved to have a few hours in the kitchen without you around. It should be enough to make sure that there will be a meal indeed.

You have only been together for a few months... in fact, you have only been in town for roughly a year (fourteen months and two days, to be exact), and this will be your first proper Christmas in Storybrooke. "Proper", because in the last one, you did not have strong ties to anyone in that town, except for Henry – who was, of course, with his mother – and, in a much smaller degree, Mary Margaret – who happened to be in a very depressed state because of David at the time.

So you all but ran away during those two days. That was your automatic response in uncomfortable situations, wasn't it? And Christmas had always been such for you. What does an orphan do, in a day that is all about family? Where does a loner, a girl who's always been on her own, go on a day when she does not feel like there is a single place in the world where she can fit in and feel part of something?

You had started that tradition when you were a teenager. In your 14th Christmas, you ran away. You were in one of the worst foster homes you ever had, there were just so may kids, pretty much stacked on top of each other, four or five sharing each bedroom, you did not have a single moment of privacy in that house and you felt more suffocated with every single day you spent there. Everyone hated each other and was constantly on each other's throats.

But suddenly the end of December came around, and your foster parents expected you to be the picture-perfect kids, because they had to send "family portraits" to social services every now and then, and Christmas was the perfect opportunity to prove that they certainly _could_ handle having so many foster children. That outraged you more than you could say, because those people were not, those people would _never_ be your family, and you wanted absolutely no part with them.

So, on the afternoon of December 24th, you ran away. Grabbed clothes for two days, a few supplies, a sleeping bag (which was actually the only bed you had in that house), threw them inside a backpack and sneaked out. Sure, you went back two days later... but that was besides the point. You knew they wouldn't even notice your absence anyway.

You saved yourself the trouble of pretending to be happy when you were miserable; you saved yourself the heartbreak of pretending to be part of a mock-family, with a lame excuse for parents, when by then you had already figured out that you would never have the _real_ deal.

You made that day all about you. Took a walk around, sat down at a park for a few hours and watched people come and go (you had always loved people-watching, after all), ate a snack... Then, as the sun was starting to go down, you walked over to the woods near the edge of the park and went in, like you had done countless times before. You knew exactly the trail you wanted to take, the one that would lead to the clearing that you considered your place. That was where you could have some moments alone, not surrounded by a dozen people all the time. And that was where you spent the night, in your own company... because that was the only family you had, the only one you had always had and would always have, and you were finally learning to accept that, in a way – even though you knew you would never feel completely painless about that.

From then on, that was what you did on almost every single Christmas, the exception being the one when you were 17 and you actually had a decent foster family for once. They tried their best to make it a nice evening for the kids... even though every single one of them, you included, was painfully aware that something was not right and that was still way too far from what a real Christmas with a real family should feel like.

On every other year, though... you ran. And that was what you did last year too, ran away and spent two days camping out in the woods by yourself, no phone, no contact with anyone, just some books and music and fishing and silence and actually having time to be alone with yourself.

But this year... this year is going to be different, and you know it. To start with, for the first time in your life, you actually _have_ parents... your real ones, even if they look like they could be your siblings or something. It's still hard to wrap your mind around it most times... and none of it seems fair if you think too much about it, and it makes you so damn angry... but it's definitely the best you've ever had, and you don't want to lose it, so you simply don't think.

And then, besides that... there's Henry. And Regina. And they give you a completely different sense of family than you feel with David and Mary Margaret. Because this one also doesn't seem fair... but in the exact opposite way. It seems a lot more than you could ever deserve, and infinitely more than you ever believed you could have. And it's just _so_ much that it gets overwhelming at times, you feel like you are constantly on the verge of losing them, and it makes your flight instinct kick in if you think too much about it, and you start to panic... but it's definitely the best you've ever had, and you don't want to lose it, so you simply don't think.

Of course, there is the slight problem that your girlfriend – it feels weird using that word, considering neither of you is a teenage girl anymore, and considering you actually do share a son, but you're not sure how else to call her... so in the end you just settle with "Regina", because that seems to be the answer to all your doubts anyway – and your mother – it also feels weird using that word, considering you are basically the same age and she certainly did not raise you... so in the end you also settle with "Mary Margaret", because giving labels really does make everything so much more complicated than it already is... And at that point, you feel the need to reconstruct your whole sentence, because the way you started doesn't feel anywhere close to appropriate.

The fact is that Regina and Mary Margaret still have not found a way to be on good terms with each other. It takes Regina a great amount of mental effort to forget that you are technically her rival's child, and whenever she is reminded of that fact, her face still contorts into a grimace, even though she does not make comments about it anymore. And Mary Margaret does try her hardest to keep herself from saying anything or going on a rant about how absurd that is, but every time Regina is mentioned, her face makes it look as if she feels personally attacked by the fact that her daughter would be in a relationship with her former step-mother. " _Former"_ , you remind her, time and time again. _"Here, she is just Regina."_ It doesn't seem to have much effect, however.

So, to make sure the holiday remains a peaceful one... you had to reach a compromise. You'll spend Christmas Eve with David and Mary Margaret. _"Family supper"_ , they called it. Just the thought of it makes your stomach clench, and you don't know how on Earth you will survive it, and you wonder where the hell your sleeping bag is, and you vow to look for it as soon as you get to the apartment, because you need to be able to make a run for the door if it becomes more than you can handle. You are suddenly happy to have woken up so late, because you can use it an excuse for getting there later than expected. Hopefully, if it's not too many hours, you can make it through...

But the next morning... that one will be spent at the mayor's house. For the first time ever, you will get to see your son opening his presents (including the ones you got him yourself, and you know you went overboard, Regina told you so dozens of times, complaining about how spoiled he would be... but you couldn't help yourself. You had to try to make up for the previous 10 years... you'll probably never stop trying to make up for them.).

You will get to see Henry's face light up as he unwraps them, tearing the festive papers apart like a kid does... like a _happy_ kid does.

You never got to have a Christmas like that growing up; a joyful one, with the magic you always heard people talking about, the carefree notion of being a child and opening your eyes on Christmas morning and knowing that the very first thought in your mind is about running to the tree to find the packages addressed to you. But your son gets that. Your son has been getting that traditional, perfect Christmas for his whole life; he has never known anything different – thanks to Regina.

Your heart is overwhelmed with gratitude to her, for how she raised him, how she gave him everything he could possibly need or want, and much more. For how, because of Regina, Henry never had to go through what you went through growing up. Christmas is such a happy day for him – and not a bordering traumatizing one like it is for you – and you know you only have Regina to thank for that. And this year... you will get to be a part of that.

And yes, in a way, this does scare you too, as much as being with David and Mary Margaret does. It scares you like freaking hell. What if you still feel like you have no place, no business being there? What if you ruin it for him, for both of them? But, differently from how it is with your _parents_ , you don't feel the need to run away.

You _want_ to be there, you _want_ to see that and be a part of that moment, to share your son's joy, to get to watch him and Regina, their genuine smiles, the calm bliss you have always associated with Christmas mornings even though you have never had one like that yourself... you want it more than anything you have ever wanted in your lifetime before.

You want to be a part of that family. You want to be a mother to your son. You want to be not just a _girlfriend_ , but a _wife_ to his other mother... to the person who took him in and loved him when you couldn't... to the person to whom you owe more than could ever be repaid, exactly because you _know_ , you painfully know, how bad it could have been for Henry if it wasn't for Regina. You want all of that so much, so strongly, so fiercely, that it makes you afraid, because you can't even remember the last time your heart was so set on something... and you figure that's because it most likely never was.

Maybe this is exactly what makes it so special: your heart is in it... fully, without restrictions. Like it never was in anything before. The walls you spent your whole life building around you seem to not have survived meeting that kid... and his mother.

You spent at least the latter half of your life convincing yourself that you did _not_ want a family, and you sure as hell did not _need_ one. But when you get to the kitchen and you see the most gorgeous woman you have ever met trying to finish mixing the ingredients to make gingerbread cookies, while the most perfectly naughty young boy picks a handful of flour and purposefully blows it on her face... when you look at them, and you see her mock-glare and hear the kid's laughter fill the room, shortly followed by the brunette's... when you feel the warmth overflowing from your heart before you can even try to stop it... then you just _know._ And for once, you finally feel ready to admit it: that is the family that you definitely, certainly, absolutely, without a single doubt, _need_.

And, wonder of wonders... that is the family you have.


	2. Chapter 2

You have been lying on your bed for almost an hour, but sleep hasn't come yet. You'd think you would have passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow, considering all the work you spent the whole day doing, and how exhausted you were by the end of it... but for some reason, you can't. You have a nagging feeling about what that reason might be, but perhaps you would prefer to not admit it, so you try to simply not think too much about that, and blame it on anxiety for the next day and a full mind instead.

The truth is, however, that you have gotten used to sharing your bed – the bed that you are currently occupying by your own self. You have grown accustomed to a certain sheriff lying down next to you, a headful of blonde curls for you to tangle your fingers in, the warmth of her body snuggling against yours, the sound of her stirs and occasional mumbles being what lulled you to sleep.

It always amazes you how quickly she can fall asleep at the end of the day, and how soundly and deeply she sleeps. It's as if she does not have a single concern, a single worry in her mind to keep her awake. It's as if she is completely clean, free of the weight you carry around everywhere you go; the weight that you try to avoid thinking about at all costs, by busying yourself endlessly with office work or housework or whatever you can come up with... But it always comes crashing down at night, when there are no more distractions and it's just you and your thoughts, and you're forced to face them because there is no way to run away from your own self when you're lying on your bed.

You are used to it, in a way. Not to your thoughts... not to everything that insists on torturing you night after night. You're not sure you will ever get used to _that_. But you are used to the insomnia, to never getting enough sleep, to tossing and turning every night. It has been like that since you were young... since the person sharing your bed was an old man who you despised more than you had words for.

Having that space all to yourself years later did not do much for the quality of your sleep, though; definitely not after all that had happened. So, for at least a few decades, sleep has been a commodity that has to be fought for and bravely earned each night. It is the prize you receive for battling all your demons, your fears, your guilt, everything in between. When you joust with them for enough time to exhaust them so that they will leave you be... then you can sleep.

Often, however, you lose that war. There are nights when it all seems heavier and scarier, and you are not strong enough to look those monsters in the eye and slay them... so instead, you run away. You get up again and find something to busy yourself with. Which means, of course, that your struggle will stop... but it also means you will not be getting sleep anytime soon.

That is why it comes off as such a shock to you how peacefully Emma is able to sleep. If anything, _that_ _i_ s what convinced you that she simply had to be the Savior indeed... Because Saviors just do what they have to do, no matter what the circumstances are. They do what is right, simply because it's the right thing to do. So that would mean, of course, that she has a lot less regrets than you do. You actually wonder, time and time again, if the woman has _any_ regrets at all; because, if she does, she does not let them show.

And it also means that, even if she probably has many demons to fight – and, the more you get to know her, the more you confirm that she does have her share of those – she is never afraid of fighting them. She deals with them as they come – because it's the right, the honorable thing to do, and running away is for cowards (like you, for instance).

Of course, if asked, she would tell you otherwise. She would tell you that she does run away from so many things, she avoids facing so many things... But it's not the same. There is a basic difference between you two: Emma Swan runs away from other people, she runs away from forming bonds with them, because she knows that, once she does, she will be risking getting hurt. But she can sit with herself. She can handle being alone with her thoughts without ever not being at ease. There is nothing inside of herself that scares her, or that she is unable to face.

You? You run away from your own self. You don't run away from other people – you _push_ them away if they get closer than you would like them to be, but that is a whole different beast altogether. You feel for people what you feel; you don't fight your feelings like the blonde does. For some reason, that was never, ever an option for you. And you would know... you tried so often to do that, to change how you feel or at least to ignore it or block it. It was all in vain. Your feelings are way too strong and on the surface to be hidden or denied. You wear your heart on your sleeve; you always have, and possibly always will. All you could do was create a persona, a mask to not display them to the _whole_ world to see. But they were still there; your emotions were still in place, unchanged despite your efforts.

And, in spite of all you were taught in your life, of how showing feelings is always a weakness... you found a way to accept yours for what they are. You found a way to accept your own self in that sense, even if at times it does make you so weak and vulnerable. The depth to which you feel things has always been at the same time your worst and best feature. And, due to sheer inevitability... that is how it stayed. You can deal with emotions in a way the sheriff never could, perhaps exactly because you allow them to take their space inside of you, make their home in your heart and settle in. You see no reason to battle against them anymore, because you know you will lose; everything you feel is just way too powerful to be pushed to the side like Emma has been doing her whole life.

What you feel for other people does not cause you that many struggles anymore; even when it causes you pain - and it very often does - that is something you have learnt to accept. Your struggle, what you tend to run away from, what you are afraid to face... is your own self. The monsters that you have reared and raised for years inside your own mind, your thoughts about who you are, your desires, your needs, your actions, your remorse... those are what keeps you up at night, those are what you flee from during the day. You are never at peace with your own self. Emma, however, seems to have never had the smallest problem with who she is in all of her life.

It's like the battles you fight are crossed; like both of you are walking the same street, but each of you is going in one different direction. Perhaps that is exactly what drew you to each other: how you were nearly opposite sides of the same coin. How similar sorts of circumstances could make you react in such different ways. How life shaped you two into matching pieces of a puzzle. How, by walking the same street, you can at least hope that the timing is right enough for you to meet in the middle.

What comes naturally for you is possibly her hardest lesson, and vice versa. That is why you bicker so often, why it's sometimes so hard for you to understand one another... but also why it is sometimes so easy. You are constantly doing a dance, one in which you take turns spinning towards and away from each other. You are one and the same... and you are polar opposites. It is a constant challenge, being with her... but somehow, you feel like it is for the best.

It has only been for a few months, but you can already see changes within yourself... and in her. One of them is exactly the fact that it has become somewhat easier for you to find sleep. You know that is far from a perfect solution to your problems, but somehow, having Emma next to you gives you the strength you need to keep trying, keep fighting, night after night. She makes you brave... and part of it comes from her protective nature, from knowing she would literally fight your battles for you if she could – and even if she can't, her presence alone makes you feel safer to do it yourself. Another part of it comes from noticing how she is at peace with her own self, and desperately wanting – _needing –_ to be that way, to have that. It encourages you to actually try to deal with things instead of running away.

There is, however, yet another part: the one that comes from being able to cling to her, to have her _physically_ there, from knowing that, when you become too tired of fighting, you can find refuge in watching her sleep and hearing her slightly snoring... and just a few minutes of that are enough to renew your energies for the next round. And that... that is exactly what you are currently lacking. And that is what you blame for you not being able to sleep.

Your sheriff is currently at the idiots' apartment, after spending Christmas Eve with them. The thought of it makes you gag, mainly because you can even picture how corny and syrupy all of that must have been. But you try to tell yourself that you have no right to be upset about that. This is their first Christmas together... it is the first Christmas in which Emma has her parents, the family she lacked for her whole life.

And, even if you absolutely hate _who_ her parents are, and you honestly wish they would be anyone else in the world... you cannot completely forget that it was a consequence of your actions that led the blonde to grow up alone. You might never know the full extent of the pain she has gone through, what she has endured in the first 28 years of her life, but you know it was a heavy load. And you know you are responsible for it.

So you suck it up, or at least you attempt to as best as you can, and instead of thinking about who her mother is, you try to think of the fact that Emma finally _has_ one, and one who loves her fully, wholeheartedly, unconditionally – even if she is in a relationship with her worst enemy. As far as your contempt for her goes, that much you have to give her: she loves her daughter, the way you always wanted your own mother to love you but she never could. So you allow yourself to be happy for the woman you love, and to leave aside your own thoughts about the reason for that happiness.

You are trying to be better... you really are. And if that means actually reassuring your partner that dinner with her parents will be amazing and she has nothing to fear, then that is what you do. You chuckle at the memory of how nervous she was in the afternoon, when she was leaving your mansion to go meet them. The woman could literally kill a dragon without as much as a second of hesitation... but a meal with David and Snow White was more than she thought she could handle. So you did your best to calm her down, and apparently it worked enough to at least get her out the door and on her way.

A small part of you now wishes it hadn't worked so well, though... at least not well enough that she would feel comfortable with actually spending the night there instead of coming back. You are very sure you need her presence more than the two idiots do right now. But what is done is done, and there you are, alone in your bed and unable to sleep.

Your mind keeps going in circles, and you would give anything to be able to shut it up once and for all, but you can't. So you are forced to listen while it shows you tonight's menu of paranoia. It tells you alternately that you should not be with Emma... and that she should not be with you. It literally takes turns with it.

First, it demonstrates to you, point by point in an endless bucket list, why you should hate her, starting with the fact that she is Snow-fucking-White's long lost daughter, passing through the fact that she broke your curse, the curse that should have granted you eternal satisfaction, then going to the fact that she is your rival when it comes to Henry's love... and even giving you reasons that you _know_ are completely absurd (for instance, that she might only be with you as a way to make you drop your guard enough to allow her to kidnap Henry and take him away from Storybrooke), but that still make your stomach churn.

Then, it decides to show you why she deserves infinitely better than you, why you would never be good enough to be worthy of someone like her, starting with the fact that you had her grandfather (that she thankfully never met) killed and got close to doing the same with her insufferable mother; then it spends a seemingly endless amount of time listing all your crimes and all the things that blackened your heart; and finally, it ends with the fact that you are the god-damned Evil Queen, for hell's sake. Why would the Savior waste her time on someone like you? How _could_ she? How could she see you as someone worthy of her love, worthy of anything more than plain contempt and hate?

And how could _you_ be naive enough to believe that she could truly feel something for you? How could you be stupid enough to let her in, to get attached, to give her a piece of your heart? How can you even expect her to be there the next day as you have agreed on, what makes you think she would leave the picture-perfect couple that her parents are and go back to the train-wreck that _you_ are? She has found her family... the family she has been searching for her whole life. What makes you think that she would chose to be a part of _your_ family instead, when she has them?

You know she loves you... rationally thinking, you do know that, and you know that, against all odds, you love her as well. But your mind at night refuses to process all and any rational thought, and you have a hard time even forming coherent thoughts at all, much less making yourself believe them against the ones that are being repeated to you endlessly.

After hours and hours of that tug of war, exhaustion finally overcomes you, and you fall into a restless sleep. You dream of her... of her leaving you time and time again, for a hundred different reasons, under a hundred different circumstances.

But when you wake up the next morning, it is her that you open your eyes to. Her face is the very first thing you see. After a minute or two, you realize that what woke you up was the kiss that she affectionately planted on your forehead. And the first thing you hear is her saying that she missed you, and she can't sleep well without you next to her anymore.

You look into her eyes, and all you can do is smile. It is Christmas morning, and waking up to Emma makes it better than waking up to even Santa Claus himself – not only is she infinitely hotter, but she actually does exist. And what is best... she came back for you.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleeping at your own apartment has never been in your plans for this evening. Your intention was to get through dinner and go right back to Regina's, so you could be there when your son woke up on Christmas morning. But the pregnancy is taking its toll on Mary Margaret, and by the time dinner ends, she is exhausted and slightly queasy, so you send her to bed, promising to help David clean everything up.

And by the time _that_ _i_ s over, it is way too late, and your always-protective, newly found father insists you sleep there, _“for safety reasons”._ Not like there are any crimes in Storybrooke at all... but you know he would still be worried about you walking back at 2am on your own, and would insist on walking you there instead. And that is definitely not what you think he should be doing, and not what you think he should be worrying about with a pregnant wife, so to avoid that discussion, you cave and stay over for the night.

You soon find, however, that your bed (or more like your old bed) is nowhere near as comfortable as you remembered it. In theory, this is still officially your and Mary Margaret's apartment; this is still your room and your bed, and where you technically live. In practice, though, you haven't slept there for at least a couple of months. 

After Mary Margaret found out she had indeed managed to get pregnant with the child she wanted so much (something  for which you resent her quite a lot, but that is something you constantly try to push away from your mind and just not think about, lest you ruin the still extremely fragile relationship you have built with her since finding out she is actually your mother),  David had moved out of his tiny rented house once and for all, and officially settled into the apartment – which had without a doubt become too small for the three of you. 

Not to mention how extremely awkward it had become for you to watch them constantly snuggling and making out, especially now that you knew you were related. If there is  _one_ thing in the whole parent-child relationship that has come  _completely_ naturally to you, without the smallest bit of effort, that thing is the slightly irksome feeling you experience every time you see your  _parents_ having any deeper physical contact. Everything in your mind screams  _“eww!”_ and you have to constantly make an effort to not let your face demonstrate that. 

Plus, you knew very well that it was only a matter of time until your resentment came to surface and you told the other woman exactly how you feel about her wanting this new baby so much that she could not even wait until the two of you had actually bonded properly. And that was not and is not something you are looking forward to... because you know it will be a hard and emotional talk, and you tend to run away from those like they are the black plague itself.

You also know that, when that happens, it will invariably shake Mary Margaret's overflowing joy, the joy of someone who has finally gotten everything they had ever wanted in their life: true love, a baby on the way, no more dangers to run from... By now, you have gathered that the last years in your mother's life – the ones before the curse – haven't exactly been easy, and there were not many victories or many moments of peace at all; now is the first time in quite a while that she has had not only good things happening, but time to enjoy them calmly. And you definitely do not like the idea of ruining that for her.

So, also to avoid or at least postpone the inevitable conflict, you have been spending pretty much every night  at Regina's. Which, in the end, leaves you pretty much in a limbo, home-wise.

Regina's house is too full of her, of her personality and her taste for you to feel like that is your home; maybe you haven't been together for enough time for that to happen, or maybe it will never happen and that will always be  _her_ place and you will simply be an addition to it – maybe you will never have enough room to imprint a bit of your own self in that place, either because you are not sure she will ever let her guard down enough to allow you to, or because you are not sure you will ever feel comfortable enough with leaving your mark. 

Leaving marks mean s making commitments; and you have always avoided those as well. You have always avoided being noticed, leaving tracks behind you, you were always far more comfortable knowing that you could pack your things and leave whenever you wanted to, and no one would notice your absence. Making Regina's home your own will mean setting your roots there... and you are not fully sure you are ready for that. You know you have been making progress in that sense, though... because, for once in your life, you actually  _want_ to. For the time being, however, you still don't think of her house as being your home... even though that is where you go back to every night now.

Y our apartment (or former), however, is also not home anymore. You don't even feel comfortable there – hence you leaving. Not that you officially did that, though. God knows Mary Margaret would have thrown a fit if you had told her you were officially moving out and in with Regina – and the fact that it was Regina of all people would have been just one of the reasons why. She would have cried and whined and pleaded with you to not leave her there while she was pregnant with your little brother or sister... and you telling her that she would  _not_ be alone because David would be living with her would not have worked. She would have pouted and made you feel bad enough to guilt you into staying... and you knew for a fact that that would not end well. 

So, yet again, you ran away from conflict, and simply started spending your nights at Regina's without an official notice. It happened once after you were there for dinner, and you had used the “it's late” excuse to spent the night there. Then it happened another time, then another one when Henry was sick and you argued that you both could take turns watching over him during the night, so none of you would be absurdly exhausted the next day... and soon, you didn't need excuses anymore. You figured Mary Margaret was too enthralled in her own predicament to give it much thought to start with.

In the end, though, it is sleeping there again after a while that shows you that that place certainly does not feel like home anymore either. Turns out that you currently feel more comfortable at Regina's than there, in every single way. Even the bed feels weird, and you have a hard time finding a comfortable position. It takes you a while to realize that  what is causing your discomfort is the lack of a body next to you.  The way you used to sleep before no longer feels comfortable, because you have grown unused to it in the last few months.

You think to yourself about how weird that is, that you would spend basically your whole life sleeping alone – because, with the exception of Henry's father, everyone else you had ever been with until Regina had left (or you had left them) before morning came – and then, in such a short time, you had unlearned how to do that. It's like sleeping next to Regina came so naturally to you that it had replaced what used to be natural before. And, now that you have to go back to that for the night, you find yourself having a hard time with it.

For once in your life, it takes you longer than five minutes to fall asleep.  And what finally helps you drift off is thinking about her, trying to imagine her lying next to you, pretending to snuggle against her like you have grown used to doing.  The effect doesn't last forever, though, and after just a few hours, you wake up again. 

You look over at your phone to find it is just after 7am. You groan at the information, thinking that is  _way_ too early to be awake at any given day, but the fact that you remember that it's Christmas makes it even more appalling. After your daily stretching and yawning ritual, however, you figure it could be a good thing that you woke up at that time. Luckily, David and Mary Margaret would still be asleep, and you could easily sneak out without being  smothered by their morning joy. That is the one aspect that still makes you think this whole thing could be a mistake and there is no way they are your parents – because you have never, ever, for one single day in your life, woken up in the early morning in a good mood. And yet the two of them seem to always wake up smiling and humming to the birds, and honestly that is all kinds of infuriating to you. So, if you can actually avoid that, all the better.

And it turns out that you can. They are both still asleep indeed, and within just a few minutes, you are out the door and on the way to Regina's. The weather is cold, and it's just starting to snow, but not heavily enough to actually stay on the ground for more than a little while. If it gets any heavier than this, though, it actually might – and you are so hoping that happens, because a white Christmas would be the cherry on top of the sundae, and extra Christmas miracle to add to the fact that you for once get to spend it with Regina and Henry... with your family.

The cold is good for you, it takes away the last traces of sleep and wakes you up for good, and soon you're walking faster than your first zombie-like steps.

You hope you will also get lucky enough to get there before the two inhabitants of the house have woken up. You're pretty sure Henry will still be asleep; his pre-teen self is starting to need more and more sleep, so waking up early hasn't been a thing for him for a while. You're not sure about the other woman, though... but you hope you will still get the chance to see her wake up, because you rarely ever do. Most times, she wakes up before you – naturally at that, no alarms or anything. So you're hoping this one time, it's the other way round.

Upon entering the house, going through the living room, kitchen and finally upstairs, and finding everything in complete, absolute silence, you know you have hit the jackpot. No one is awake there yet besides you. You stop by Henry's door, and you can't resist taking a peek inside. You can't see much through the keyhole, but it's enough to distinguish his sleeping form on the bed, under a heavy duvet that he pulled until it was covering his whole body, from head to toe.

You smile to yourself, in awe of how much love you feel for that boy, like you thought you would never be able to feel for anyone. After more than a year of knowing him, you are still not sure if you can be a mother... there is way too much baggage there, way too many scars, way too many doubts, your flight instincts still speaking to you and telling you to run time and time again, even though you have gotten a lot better at shutting them up.

And finally finding your parents, differently from what you had hoped for your whole life, did not miraculously fix things, did not suddenly make you able to get easily attached to people and open your heart to them and take responsibility for them. You were always good at defending the weak and oppressed, but you were never good at  _taking care_ of them, because that demanded emotional attachment, and you were rarely ever brave enough for that. And, if there is one thing that being a mother demands, that is it. 

That is why you gave him up in the first place: not only you had never had any examples of how to be a mother, but the last thing you were capable of doing after being betrayed and abandoned by the one man you had allowed yourself to love was to risk that happening again. You would not be able to open your heart up completely... not with the amount of pain you were  _still_ going through. And that tiny child definitely deserved better than a mother who wouldn't know how to be a mother... and who wouldn't be able to love him without reserve or fear.

B ut after getting to know him, one of those things had been fixed. You had grown to love him so much, and so quickly. You resisted at first... still too afraid, especially considering how clear Regina had been that  you had no place in his life whatsoever. It was emotional suicide to allow  you rself to get attached to him, knowing you could lose him at any second. 

But, once you finally decided to stay in Storybrooke for good... you knew you were doomed. You already cared for that kid far more than you were comfortable with, and there was no way back from that. It didn't take too long for you to admit to your own self that you didn't simply  _care_ about him... you  _loved_ him. You  _love_ him, more than you will ever be able to explain. And you are extremely grateful for that, because that love was exactly what saved his life, what broke the curse and allowed you to find your parents and to bring people's happiness back... It was what bro ught Henry himself back. So you will always be thankful for how that young boy found his way into your heart and made camp there. 

It still leaves you in awe, though. It still comes as a surprise, whenever you think about just how much you love him, because that was never something that came easily to you, and never with this intensity, and never in this overflowing amount. So you take your time to let that feeling sink in as you watch him sleep from afar. You don't know if you can be the mother he deserves to have – if you're honest, you have to admit that you actually do not think you ever will be – but you finally know, after all these years, that you love him, without a single doubt.

And in a way, another of your problems has also been somewhat solved. Because, thankfully, you don't  _have_ to be the mother he deserves to have – because he  _already_ has that. He already has a mother who not only loves him with all her heart, but who is a  _wonderful_ mother at that, one who is always ready to  care for him and help him with homework and take care of him whenever he is sick and educate him... and do what is best for him, even if that means sacrificing her own self. He has always had that mother, ever since he was a few days old. 

So, in a way, that weight is off your shoulders. Because of Regina, you can try to be a mother to Henry without the pressure of being the only one he can rely on. You can simply  _try_ , knowing that,  i f you can't be as good of a mother as he should have, there is already someone there to fill in that role. And, because of Regina... you actually  _do_ have an example to follow  now . Not your  _own_ mother, but  _his_ mother.  With them both... you finally feel like you can allow yourself to  _try_ . You can allow yourself to  _stay_ .

Thinking about the brunette makes you suddenly remember what you wanted to do, so you force yourself to straighten back up and continue walking to the end of the corridor, until you reach the beautifully crafted wooden door, which you carefully  push  open.  You enter the bedroom slowly, on the tip of your toes,  doing your best not to make any noises that could wake the sleeping brunette. It's way too early, after all – even for her.  Besides... you do want to see her waking up, but that is definitely not the best way to do that,  for your own safety .

Y ou reach the bed,  looking down at the other woman curled up, a heavy blanket covering her form, both of her hands clutching it to her chest,  and sit down next to her . Once more, your senses are overcome by how absolutely gorgeous she is, even when she is asleep – perhaps even more so. No matter how many times you have looked at her over the past year; time and time again, you seem to be just as overwhelmed by her beauty as you were the very first time you saw her, when you came by her house simply to return her son, introducing yourself with a sheepish smile and trying to explain the situation. 

You waste a moment thinking about how neither of you could have known, at that night, where you would end up. Neither of you could have known, when she incredulously asked you if you were Henry's birth mother, and in your mind you tried to process that  _she_ , that unbelievably classy and sexy and beautiful woman, was Henry's adoptive mother, that a year later, you would simply be – both of you – Henry's  _mothers_ .

Never moving your eyes from her, you start to take in her shape, the position she is sleeping in, the state of the bed itself... the tousled sheets, her fists holding the blanket – not fully relaxed even in sleep. It is obvious that she has had another very rough night, and guilt washes over you because you know, she has told you at least a few times, that she has been sleeping better ever since you unofficially moved in. You know having you there helps her sleep, even if you can't exactly understand how that works for her, since you don't do anything besides... well, sleep.

Still, for some reason, that makes things easier for her. And, by spending the night at your old apartment, you took that away from her – and now you can clearly see the results of your choice.

Since you always fall asleep before she does and she always wakes up before you do, this is literally the first time you are getting to watch her sleep. This is the first time that you are actually realizing how hard that is for her, how much strength she needs to gather each night, how much of a fight – literally speaking, by the looks of the bedsheets – she puts up.

She has told you bits and pieces about it, either willingly, or just letting it escape at one time or other. You  h ave put together enough to know sleep is definitely a problem for her... but, up until now, you didn't know just how much. You frown and tell your own self that  you will try your very best to not let this happen again... to not leave her to deal with it alone. 

If she can go to a war every night and just keep doing that day after day after day; if she can trust you enough to believe you don't see her like everyone else and you will not betray her trust like everyone else; if she can be brave enough to let you see the _real_ Regina and not the mask she shows to everyone else (whether that mask be the always-in-control mayor or the famous Evil Queen)... then you can be there. You can be there for her, and for Henry, and you can allow your roots to hold ground and grow, and you can allow those two people to take root inside your heart as well, for once. And not just for the time being.

Suddenly, Regina starts slightly struggling against her blanket. Her brows furrow, and a definitely pained expression washes over her face. You are still deciding what the best course of action is, if waking her up or simply lying down next to her, when you hear a word escape her lips. Your name.  She's calling for you, and her voice is barely a whisper, but you can still clearly distinguish how anguished it sounds. You know  at that very moment that you cannot let whatever is tormenting her go on for a second longer.

Leaning down, you gently cup her cheek and caress it lightly with your thumb, and you can immediately feel her face relax the tiniest bit. You bring your lips to her forehead, lingering there for a moment while you breathe her in, realizing how much you missed the fruity scent of her hair. When you move away, you see she is starting to stir, blinking the sleep away from her eyes little by little, trying to force them open.

Still not removing your hand from her face, you patiently wait until she is awake enough to look at you, not wanting to hurry her up or startle her in any way – you know her dreams have probably done enough of that already.

You are very good at reading people... everyone knows that, yourself and her included. So it startles you to realize that, when that happens and she finally opens her eyes for good and sees you there, the first emotion that you see the hazel orbs displaying is... surprise. She is honestly surprised to see you there; not like someone who is confused, like you were just yesterday upon waking up, but like someone who is met with something unexpected.

Then it hits you: Regina is not used to people coming back for her for any reasons that not to exert revenge or to use her. She is not used to the people she loves going back to her... she is only used to watch them leave, on one way or other.

You only know so much about her life before they all came to this world; Mary Margaret actually told you more about it than she herself has so far – although the two of you have been slowly working on that, one step at a time. But what you do know, combined with your gut feelings, is enough to know that she was not really expecting you to be back today. Maybe  she was hoping for that, yes – after all, that was what you had agreed on, wasn't it? But in that moment, you realize that she did not truly believe you would, at least not completely; deep in her heart, she doubted it. 

And that breaks your heart... because you know that feeling. You know it all too well, the fear, the inability to trust someone else to love you and care about you... the inability to believe your own self worthy of that.  That is not a feeling you would wish upon anyone, ever. But especially not the woman you love. 

It pains you that she would doubt you that way, but you know better than to judge her for it or be even mildly disappointed at that, because you  _also_ know how hard it is to get rid of that kind of thinking, once your brain and all your past experienced have made you pretty much wired towards it. You know it's not a choice, not something she can control or change. Deep down, you know she might never completely believe that you are not leaving her – especially since she does know about your record of running away; just like you know you might also never completely believe she is not going to leave you either. That's something you'll both have to deal with and hopefully overcome – but if not, at least go around. 

It occurs to you that all you can do is keep proving her wrong, say after day after day. And that thought, that knowledge scares you, because you know one single slip might do more damage than you could ever account for, and you have never been good at handling all that pressure, and you never  _wanted_ all that pressure to start with... You did  _not_ ask to be the Savior, you did  _not_ sign up for that, and you ran from it literally as much as you could, until your son's life was in the line and you had no choice but to embrace it and to fight for his life, literally slaying a dragon if needed be. 

Being responsible for someone else scares she hell out of you. But you have done it for Henry. And you do intend to keep doing it for him, because you know leaving his life now is not an option anymore. And, if there is one person who will always be connected to Henry... that person is Regina. Being in Henry's life will always mean being in Regina's life. So you know that you're in it for the long run... with both of them.

You know that in your heart, and  in that exact moment, you realize that it will not be  _that_ much of a new commitment to make sure that  _Regina_ also knows that. The commitment itself ha s already been made... not now, but months ago. The only difference is that, no w, you are finally brave enough to admit it. You love her, you belong right next to her, and you are not leaving.

Leaning down again, you capture her lips with yours, hoping the kiss will be able to convey everything that you cannot find the words to say yet. You are physicality embodied... words have never been your strength. But still, you muster enough of them to let her know you missed her, to let her know your nights are also worse without her... and you hope with all you have that she reads it for what it is, a confession that you do need her as well.

When she  smiles at you, reaches up and pulls you into her arms, clinging tightly, and tells you she missed you too... you know she has.


	4. Chapter 4

You know it's already morning and Henry will be waking up at any moment and you should get up and get dressed and start working on breakfast so he'll find the table ready and the house smelling of sugar and cinnamon when he gets to the living room, as has been your tradition ever since he started being able to go down the stairs on his own. But you cannot resist pulling Emma in and holding her tight, and you cannot resist savoring that moment, feeling her breath on your neck, her lips lightly grazing your skin, her arms sneaking around you and pulling you ever closer, and you cannot resist trying to make that moment last as long as possible.

Closing your eyes again, you inhale deeply, and allow your other senses to be flooded by her in every way, from the scent of her shampoo to the contented humming noises she's making to her body pressed against yours. You feel your heart steadying its rhythm, your whole self being washed over with warmth. And you know this is right.

You have always found it funny, how so many people seem to describe love as butterflies, or as a jolt of energy, or as something that makes your heart stop or your lungs forget how to breathe. Some of those have instead always been panic responses to you – and you are quite familiar with those. But you have always thought of love as comforting, soothing rather than electrifying. That has been all too rare in your life, but at this very moment, you feel it: the tranquil bliss flowing inside you, calming every nook and cranny of your previously-agitated heart and making your soul for once rest inside your body at ease. After the night you had, you welcome this feeling with arms as open as you had for the woman who has evoked it herself. You are not ready to relinquish it just yet.

Eventually, however, you know that you have to. Not only because of Henry, but because the noises the blonde is making against your neck have stopped being contented sighs and have become grumbling that sounds a lot like “I need to pee”. So, with a smirk forming on your lips, you force yourself to loosen your grip on her and allow her to get back up.

You stay in bed for a while longer, waiting until she comes out of the bathroom again, and it strikes you that you once wished, with all your might, that this woman would simply disappear from Storybrooke, from the world, from your life. You wished that she had never come into it at all.. and you had actually done quite a lot to try to make that happen. You run a hand through your hair, sighing deeply, knowing you will probably never find a way to be comfortable with the things you have done – both in this world and in the one you were born in -, but you try to remind yourself that, even if you cannot erase or take back any of it, you are not that person anymore, and you are trying to do things differently now.

You take a moment to dwell on how thankful you are that none of your plans to drive Emma away worked – and that _this_ , on the other hand, is working. She comes out and back into the bedroom, and you know it's time for you to get up and face the day. There is a lot to do and a little boy to be fed and probably his mother too, judging by the time she had arrived. You don't think even the not-so-Charming idiots have breakfast that early. And you have the distinct impression of having heard the blonde's stomach growl while you were snuggling. 

Seemingly never-ending appetite really does appear to be a genetic trait with those two. It took getting to know Emma for you to figure out why Henry was  _always_ ready to eat, regardless of how little time had passed after his last meal. After noticing that, watching the way both of them act concerning food (or even the  _mention_ of food) has become a great source of amusement for you, and you would never admit it to anyone but yourself, but you have at times purposefully discoursed about your cooking plans aloud instead of just thinking about them, only so you'd be able to watch the reactions it would elicit. Anything, from wide eyes to actual drooling, could happen, and on occasion, there will even be a bribing attempt or two – which you undoubtedly answer with a smirk and no promises beyond “We'll see”. 

But in the end, you always cave; you always end up cooking whatever you know they will appreciate the most. You have always done it for Henry, ever since he learned to voice his opinions on the matter, and it has always filled you with pride to know he appreciates your cooking so much. In a way, it has always been gratifying to know you can nourish him; and watching his delighted expression as he eats has always been a most welcome bonus to that. But now, you have all of that times two. Because, if there is one thing about which Emma behaves like a complete child, that thing is food. So, in all honesty, their reactions are identical; and realizing that, differently from what you would have imagined  a year ago , has filled you with warmth.

W hich means that, in practical terms, you have two famished kids to feed on Christmas morning.  You wash your face to shake away the last remains of sleep, get dressed and take Emma by the hand, leading her downstairs. And then, magic starts. And by “magic”, for once, you do  _not_ mean  _actual_ magic. Then again, according to the vocabulary of the woman sitting on the stool and watching you cook, “magic” and “food” are very closely related words, so you allow yourself to expand the concept of the first in your mind. 

You make french toast, regular toast, eggs, bacon, applesauce, and so on. Christmas has always been a huge-breakfast, late-lunch day in the Mills mansion, so you  always allow yourself to  go overboard. This year, even more so, because there's one more person to have breakfast with you. You look back at Emma, who still hasn't taken her eyes away from you – certainly hoping for a sample and decidedly looking very much like a hungry puppy – and smile. She responds with a big grin and you feel yourself blush lightly, turning back before that can actually be noticed.

Midway through the process, Henry wakes up. You can hear him practically gallop down the stairs, infused with all the holiday cheer in the world. For a moment, you feel a bit bad that, for the first time in his life, breakfast is not yet ready when he comes down on Christmas morning. But then you see Emma – his other mother – immediately rise from her stool and pull him into her arms, holding him tight and kissing the top of his head various times. And when she finally lets him go, you see that both of them are tearing up the slightest bit. And you are glad for not being done with breakfast just yet. You are glad they could have that (brief, but still loaded and meaningful) moment for the first time, and you are grateful to have been able to witness that.

And when the sweet, beautiful boy  walks over to you and hugs you just as tightly as he has just hugged the other woman, you know this is not a competition. This is not a dispute, no exclusion is necessary. For him, there is no choice to be made; he has a big enough heart to comport two mothers, and to love them both earnestly.  Slowly, little by little, you are starting to realize that  Emma being there does not suddenly make you unnecessary in his eyes,  it does not suddenly make your company or your hugs undesirable. 

You know you have also done wrong things when it comes to him, and perhaps the biggest one of them was trying to stop him from having the blonde in his life. And you know  that, possibly exactly because of that, he reacted by not wanting  _you_ in his life anymore. But you also know that those times are past, and he has been very clear for quite a while now about wanting  _both_ of you in his life. You should have known better from the start, but at least you  are starting to accept that now : he is your son, your baby boy, your little prince, and Emma's presence does not change that in any way. 

You are so used to never being good enough, to never being loved, that you were sure that the only way for him to keep loving you was if the other woman was out of the picture. You were so sure that he would never willingly choose to live with you again, to even speak to you again. It's a good thing that surprising you and proving you wrong also seem to be genetic traits for them.

F inishing up, you ask for their help to bring everything to the table, making sure to remind them with a mock-stern tone that that means things are actually supposed to  _arrive_ at the table, and not be consumed midway – to which both of them giggle guiltily. The meal is lighthearted and conversation mostly revolves around Henry, who keeps going on and on about the latest comic book he's reading and how he and his friends are planning a snowball fight the next day and so on. There is a contented atmosphere, an almost familiar feeling, as if this wasn't the occasion for more “firsts” than can be counted. 

You were sure you had made enough breakfast to feed a battalion, bu t unbelievably enough, there isn't a single crumb left. Emma is left groaning and holding her stomach, announcing that she ate too much – but quickly adding that it was worth it. Henry allows himself to be in the same predicament for all of two minutes, before animatedly jumping from his chair and exclaiming that it's time for presents. 

You smile warmly at him, always amazed at how much energy he seems to have; you can't remember a time in your life when you have ever had that much, even as a child. Then again, it's not like you had all that many chances for that. In a way, it makes you proud to have been able to provide him with a light enough environment growing up, that he could simply be a kid and jump and run and break things without the necessity that was always imposed on you to be quiet and proper.

You transfer to the couch next to the Christmas tree, chuckling lightly at Emma's groans upon getting up from the table and sitting down again, but keeping yourself from making any comments or reminding her she  _could_ have stopped eating before it got to that point. Henry is too excited to even sit down at first; you're pretty sure his gift pile has never been this big before – and you were never one to hold back when it came to gifts for him. But Emma... she's gone completely overboard, so much so that you actually avoided getting him much this year, otherwise he would have more presents than any child would know what to do with. Hell, he probably already does. 

But you don't say a word about that, not really. At one point during the last month, you caught Emma bringing yet more boxes to your closet, which is where you've always hidden Henry's presents before the time to give them came, and you thought that was a bit too much, seeing as it wasn't even mid-December yet and it was already hard to move around and pick your outfits, and yet the blonde did not show any signs of intending to stop getting him more and more things.

So you told her she was exaggerating, you told her he had never received that many presents at once before, you asked her if she didn't think that was way too much, if maybe she could just save some of those for his birthday instead... but the look on her face before she even said a word made you simultaneously regret the question and understand the answer.  The sadness in her eyes, the way they immediately started to tear up, how she looked down and simply mumbled that she had never gotten to give him Christmas presents before... it made your heart ache for her, and all you could do was take a step forward and pull her into your arms. 

She was the one for whom this would make the biggest difference, not you or even Henry. You had had every single Christmas with him since he was born, you had gotten to shower him with presents at least twice a year for the past eleven years, you had shared all of those moments with him. And Henry? He had had all of that since birth, love and attention and presents galore, so that would be nothing new to him even if it would be bigger than usual. But for Emma? That was the first time. Last year, you had prevented her from seeing him at all during that time, and when she tried to give him something, you had burned it... one more thing to your regret list. At that moment, you understood why she was doing that. This would be her first chance, and she needed to make it good.

You never said a word about it after that. You pondered that having a spoiled child was a price worth paying if it would heal some of the wounds inside his mother's chest. Besides, Henry has always been too good a kid to ever really become a brat anyway.

So you allowed it silently from then on, and silently you watch them now, the child eager to receive presents as every child should be on Christmas morning, and the mother, who at that moment looks to you nearly as much like a child, happy just to be there, to be with him, eager to give him  _love_ , in any way she can manage, even if that is smothering him with presents –  _and_ with hugs, which she seems to dispense so sparsely for everyone else, but so freely to him.

You look at them and you see the lively glint in both their eyes. You notice Emma's are humid and know she must be holding back so much emotion, not wanting turn a relaxed moment into a heavy one. And yet, behind the forming tears, you can recognize an infinite amount of joy and affection and love when she looks up at Henry. And him... he is happy. He is just a kid, and yet you know him enough to be sure that he knows how important that moment is, to be sure that he understands that this is just as important for his blonde mother as it is for him.

It is their moment with each other, all of it. And you let them have it.  For once, you are at peace with not being a part of it; you make it that way, even. You sit farther away on purpose,  and take pleasure in simply  observing them quietly, taking in every expression, every emotion flowing between them. 

And when your own eyes start to water and you feel your heart swell with love for the two of them and with gratitude for being allowed to witness a Christmas miracle in action, you know they are not the only ones for whom things have changed. Because, looking at the two of them grinning and giggling and hugging each other, you finally realize you do not feel threatened anymore.

You feel complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was this? As it's looking, we'll have one more chapter, and then it's a wrap. Cross your fingers that the holiday spirit lasts long enough for it to be finished still within this holiday season?
> 
> Of course, encouragement always helps, so don't forget to let me know what you think! Oh, and chocolate. If anyone wants to send me chocolate as encouragement, I'll gladly take that too. :D


End file.
